I don't know what's wrong
But I know it could be better
I don't miss my home
My sister or my mother
But still I feel alone
And don't know if it gets better
I went to sick call yesterday
Corporal Gonzalez said rate the pain
I said "maybe 3", he said "9 pills a day"
I know I'm in pain, but I don't feel the ache
I notice when my limbs stop bending
But don't know if its numb or stinging
Not until PT makes me cry
But I must be fine to have covered 30 miles
Why am I crying?
Damn it the planet’s on fire
Concerning..right down to the wire
Burning on its funeral pyre spire
I’m for turning.. where’s the messiah?
A heavenly choir…so we can aspire
That learning will finally inspire
An endless yearning desire
Of spurning this friendless quagmire
Discerning things are rather dire
Churning of the palaver and ire
Mother nature does surely tire
Should be the crier & trier
Of another returning frequent flyer
Corporate pariah..or so called high flier
Deranged global warming denier
You can tell its hotter...getting dryer
The climate’s changed.. you liar
Mining anything shining..find a buyer
All about earning..will just retire
With their bounty…a comfy county squire
Or dicey fiscal rascal friar
Got devious egregious previous & prior
Pampered dining on pricey lobster & samphire
Us out of luck..stuck in the muck & mire
Tampered temperatures soaring higher
But no ruck ..chuck the entire earth in the fryer
They’ve scampered…we’re hampered in the briar
Does appall …no truck with their gall…yet remain a complier
Insane what they pluck.. yet we all still call them “Sire”
Written: April 23, 2025, for contest sponsored by Tania Kitchen
************
Chocolate, cinnamon hug,
Steam ceramic mug
Creamy smiles of cozy love
Smoothy delivered
Sweetness from her lips
Ruck sweet kiss
Treat!
The light is thinning.
A ragged man struggles
to carry an unboxed
large plasma screen.
He is walking it home,
he has no home
still, he is walking it,
but now it's raining
the TV becomes
a slippery umbrella.
There is so little light to be had,
no one goes to the park
not even to stare at the sky,
not even to walk a dog,
not even to smoke a cigarette
huddled behind
a dripping tree trunk.
A TV slides down
a slick grassy bank.
A bad day for minstrels,
knights and stray unicorns.
An old woman,
hands wrapped
in fingerless wool,
tugs at an abandoned
plasma screen.
After sliding down a grassy bank
she gives up.
Beetles spill out of a ruck of turf.
Her heels disappear into a gray light.
The beetles take shelter
under a large television.
Dodging one here, dodging one there,
Riding along without a care.
Three in a row, which way do I go,
I close my eyes and curse the so and so.
Oh! what a bang, the old van shook,
But at least it is still going and not in a ruck.
What is that noise? that cannot be right,
I, giving a gasp of utter fright.
Must stop, foot pedal goes straight to the floor,
And the hand brake does not belong to the van anymore.
Coast to a stop, must pull onto the verge,
The engine roars but no longer gives the van any urge.
Beneath the van the axle is in two,
With the stout half shaft plainly in view.
Side to side the rear wheel wobbles,
Not what I expected for all of my troubles.
Beware of those holes, the pot holes I mean,
Especially those that cannot be seen.
Old NED has finally been brought to a stop,
Everything seems to be going to pot.
At least I escaped the indignity,
Of watching that wheel coming off and overtaking me.
Oh! what utter strife,
It is for sure, ONE HELL OF A LIFE !!!
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck,
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck,
Blocking all the streets
In the centre of town,
To all intents and purposes
Closing the city down.
The police were very tolerant,
Withdrawing their attack
After more than one officer suffered
From a wielded walking stick's whack.
The atmosphere changed
Soon after that
Lots of bonhomie
Banter and chit chat.
The action was called offi
Promptly at five to three
Thus allowing each
To be home in time for tea.
The action wasn't called
For any cause or good:
No it was carried out
Just to show they could.
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck.
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck.
They went to the spar hotel and got it on. One time was enough to revive the old socialist. He was fully revived. This was similar but different than before. They bonked away one session and did other things. This was better than being in the reading room studying revolutionary doctrines. The human body needed nourishing as did the mind. Blue was illuminated and revived in all ways. Like a rescued nation freed of a capitalist government replaced by a loyal communist one. Total revival of all things. If only it was always like this rather than the continued battle capitalist and communist in the way of the world. A good buck suck ruck was the key. He needs no Viagra it's all natural service guaranteed. He's locked and loaded. His bright green target cross is locked on his target, focused to infinity. See how she dances soon to dance with him. What will they create?
SELL OUT Nick Armbrister new book out soon
Your memories perplex a confused mind.
A vast sea-like water spout erupts behind.
I morphed into what you were enduring.
We are once again being left in the wind.
Scars were tickled with scent of spring.
Tulip gardens and vivid hues are enchanting.
Hypnotic mind's remoteness is strange.
Using the ninth divine cloud, you lauding.
Dismal views would drive me strange.
I'd sing for the spirits of the carnage.
In my mind, the calm of today is gone.
Darken spots provide a unique phage.
Feeling in the heart as cold as scorn.
So, where is this mind going torn?
This is the mind's intrinsic norm.
Wherever darkness rules are born.
You can't discern truth from deform.
Yet, reality is a colorless transform.
Trust has been ripped and struck.
The only thing left is a bodily storm.
Sadness is the hallmark of the muck.
Left you with no clear plan of attack.
It's the saddest situation conceivable.
It is the master interface for all ruck.
Written: October 04, 2021
Where would the South Koreans be
If the USA had left 'em high and dry by '73
And can you imagine West Germans' lives
If America had cleared out by '75
But 20 years for the Afghans was just too long
Who else think the Boomers got it wrong
If you do not rock the boat,
You may end up on the rocks.
If you do not rock the boat,
You may be in for a shock,
If you do not rock the boat,
You may have to hide behind some rocks.
If you do not rock the boat,
You will need a new lock.
If you do not rock the boat,
Someone may think it needs to be sunk with rocks.
If you do not rock the boat,
You may have no wages to dock.
If you do not rock the boat,
You will be ordering scotch on the rocks.
If you do not rock the boat,
You may end up in the middle of a ruck.
If you do not rock the boat,
Time may bury you under a pile of rocks.
Shadows are stiff
hard-edged,
all telling,
not fibbing
nor forgiving.
The mind's eye is blind
to the shadowy-side
we carry in ruck-sacks behind
our backs.
Shadows are brutally honest,
dark and gloomy,
sketches of self in outline,
that we would rather lose
'cause they can't be
colored in.
The All Blacks played Australian Rules
Maori men against young fools
Butt a stroke of luck
In a muddy ruck
Quite promptly diminished their tools
Beneath the clouds, I sat down,
stacks of thoughts in my mind, I found.
None besides me, in a pensive mood,
even trees in howling breeze, firm they stood.
A flying dry leaf, but, on my face it stuck,
just like I feel avoided in the ruck.
Friends had I to name many,
gay were the days, those sunny.
Across my fate what struck down,
thinking this I rubbed, my feet on grassy ground.
Jovial was their company, would empty many a keg,
never once, dreamt I, the ship of friends would wreck.
Now can hear in mishap, only the whispering silence,
heart thaws, at the thought, why friends distance.
Fingers on rosary, with only word I remember ‘forgive’,
many storms on the way, alone to face, I should live.
I spied them through our fence.
They sparred with knuckled fist,
a father with unruly buck
beside back door for violent ruck
that stag was bound to win.
Young eyes that saw that vile display
did not forget that horrid day,
and now know just how close
that same scene could have been.
If nobody knew the meaning of ball,
Air in a bladder of skin,
If nobody knew the sound on the ground,
The turn or the lift or the spin,
Then people wouldn't walk the green back and forth,
Wouldn't aim for over a net,
Wouldn't know about scrummage, ruck, maul or try,
Wouldn't use words like love, deuce and set,
And i think folks would laugh at the simple idea,
The primitive notion, the thought,
That teams of men could attack one another,
Then stand up and call it a sport,
But then again, no, the ball has a use,
It replaces the dead with a score,
The ball of choice, whatever the size,
It's probably stopped a small war.
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